Editor's note: This column is adapted from one Hank Seaman wrote after meeting Vanessa Williams.

She was the most beautiful — well, perhaps, in the interest of marital harmony, I should say the SECOND most beautiful — woman I've ever seen.

Miss America 1984, Vanessa Williams was stunning.

Absolutely, positively gorgeous.

And 30 years later, according to the photos I've seen, she still is.

I clearly remember our first — and only — meeting. At the time I was a Standard-Times staff photographer and Williams was in New Bedford for the 1984 Miss Massachusetts pageant at the Zeiterion Theater.

It was a little more than a month before the first black Miss America's fall from grace which forced her to resign her title. That happened when Penthouse magazine published nude photos of her and another young woman — fairly tame by today's standards — that were taken well before she entered the pageant.

But on that June 1984 day, that disgrace was still in the future. Vanessa Williams was the star of a press conference at the Main Event restaurant on Union Street.

Oh, I know that nowadays, to be politically correct, I should probably say I didn't notice how overwhelmingly beauteous she was. That it was just another day on the job. That she was no big deal.

But, of course, that would be a lie.

I DID notice her — and how!! What was I — blind?

You know that old cliche about beauty taking your breath away? Well pass the oxygen tank, bunky, because Ms. Williams damn near keeled me over. She had such an overpowering presence she made me feel like I was somehow trapped in a Jerry Lewis movie ... and worse I had now become the star.

HEY—Y—Y L—A—A—D—Y—Y—Y!!!

It's awfully hard to be suave when you're drooling. And don't think for a minute that I was the only one. I noticed even the city government honchos seemed to be having trouble with their speech patterns.

What is it about a beautiful woman that makes otherwise intelligent, responsible men babble like imbeciles as they stumble into furniture?

And certainly I was SO intelligent and responsible — you would have been proud — because as soon as I saw Williams, I found myself speaking in tongues, one of which seemed to be mine.

When she first walked straight toward the press table and I felt her eyes burning into me, it was like somebody had hit me in the solar plexus with an industrial strength two by four.

"Foof" I gasped to no one in particular. You know me, I've always had a way with words.

Not surprisingly the rest of the predominantly male press corps was hanging onto her every word while she, in turn, didn't seem to particularly mind the attention.

"I had no idea there were so many good-looking guys in New England," she gushed, scanning the length of the press table.

Perhaps Vanessa hadn't worn her contacts that day.

Nevertheless we all raised ourselves to tippy toe height, and sucked in our guts as her PR person Ellie Ross initiated the media introductions around the table.

As Williams approached I became increasingly hypnotized by her extraordinary eyes.

Big, bright, and luminous, they were filled with the most captivating emerald green liquid.

And stardust.

It occurred to me — too late — that men have drowned in pools like that. And here I was without a life jacket.

Vanessa Williams shook my hand warmly as Ross read my name tag to her and Williams graciously said something about how nice it was to be in New Bedford.

"Pleased to meet you" was simply too much for me. Grinning like a fool, "fleaze thoo mimshoo" was the closest I could manage.

Williams gave me a funny look as she proceeded down the table. It made me feel only marginally better when the same fella next to me — "Splash" I now call him — knocked over his water glass in the attempt to shake her hand.

After a few minutes, with the amenities out of the way, Williams was up at the opposite end of the table and down to the business at hand. She answered media questions with a poise and confidence far beyond her then-21 years.

Vanessa Williams' extraordinary eyes were boring intense holes into each man seated at that table and sap was leaking out all over the place. She made every male, including yours truly, feel like he was the only one in the room.

Susan, I love you, but....

After a number of fluffy give and takes about New Bedford architecture, seafood, and the upcoming Miss Massachusetts pageant, Williams initiated a serious exchange about her being the very first black Miss America.

"Many older people of both races have told me they never thought they'd see the day a black woman would be crowned," she said. "I think it was a surprise to not see a blonde, blue-eyed woman chosen... BUT to choose a black woman?"

She left the question hanging in the air where it floated around the room a couple of times before settling back down to earth.

You could hear a pin drop.

Then just like that the conference was over and it was on to the luncheon and Mayor Brian Lawler's presentation of the key to the city.

As the media types prepared to leave, the fella next to me — "Splash" — started grousing about the brevity of the press conference but was stopped short by Vanessa's reappearance.

She thanked us for coming. In effect she was thanking us for doing our jobs, which was extremely classy I thought. Apparently Splash thought so too because he was trying his damnedest to express himself.

"Gargle poopy harg Der bargy," he giggled nervously zipping the corner of the tablecloth into his media equipment case.

A curious thought popped into my head as I caught the water pitcher before it disappeared over the edge of the table.

Even though I hadn't the slightest idea what "Splash" was trying to say I understood precisely what he meant.

In Hank's World, talking isn't easy under the best of circumstances. Contact Hank at hankseaman@gmail.com